Second Thoughts
by Hello Dollface
Summary: My idea of the perfect series finale if it ends with the seventh season. No spoilers, as far as I know. RoryJess.


**Title**: Second Thoughts  
**Author**: mycautionfix  
**Pairing**: Rory/Jess  
**Chapters**: One-shot  
**Disclaimer**: Nothing is mine, basically, with the exception of the idea for the fic.  
**Summary**: My idea of the perfect series finale (if it ends with the seventh season). No spoilers, as far as I know.

She got in the car without a second thought. Second thoughts came later, when she was stopped at a red light twenty-fives miles out of town and too far from a cell phone tower to have any sort of decent reception. Well, maybe it was better this way. Second thoughts lead to third thoughts, and third thoughts inevitably lead to making a quick u-turn on a dark, two lane highway to return from whence she came.

She needed music. She popped open the glove compartment, but the only CDs that tumbled out were the ones that reminded her of him. Flicking on the radio, she hoped to catch something, anything with a good beat. Hell, she'd even settle for country, there wasn't a shot in hell that'd remind her of anything but cowboy boots and awkward middle school square dances.

She wasn't entirely sure where she was going, and that scared her. She always had a plan, flying by the seat of your pants was for someone far less sane than her. What happened to that internal voice of reason? The one that provided road maps and helpful words of advice and…second thoughts. She knew in the back of her heart that another internal voice was directing her actions, telling her which exits to take and which lanes to merge into, she just didn't want this realization to become common knowledge with the other parts of her body (read: the brain).

She figured that at the very least, putting a call to her mother might be a good idea. Making a run for it from the commencement stage to one's car was enough to put a scare into any person in the crowd, much less Lorelai. But at the same time, she was sure that there was a right time to make that call, and now wasn't it. So she refrained from maneuvering her phone out of the graduation gown that had been involuntarily assigned to riding shotgun, and kept driving. She'd call when she got there.

She stopped for gas, hoping that no one would recognize her, and then realized she was many miles from Hartford, and also lacked the air of fugitivity. She was safe. Safe? What did she need to be safe from? A loving mother, friends, boyfriend? A secure job and future? A decidedly entertaining Stars Hollow graduation party? It was at that moment her brain got the message her heart had been sending with subtlety: she wasn't so much running away as she was running to.

She had to stop her brain from snapping on the gas cap and heading back to where she'd left her sanity behind, hovering over the commencement stage at the precise point where she's shaken the hands of the university president. That's where it had all gone wrong, where the more romanticized organs in her body had declared mutiny (read: the heart). Her second thoughts were getting more lucid, but she had to fight them off and see this through. She was too far now to turn back, if she was going to go back to Stars Hollow and see the looks upon their faces, she better at least have a damn good story to tell.

She left the gas station, and much to her brain's dismay, forged ahead. She drove for a few hours, hoping her heart had already created a master plan in which she'd simply follow orders. She wasn't sure if, once she got there, she'd be able to convince her voice to cooperate. She never had a problem talking, but at this moment she was quite worried the necessary interiors had picked up and left (read: the vocal cords).

She felt her insides turn into gelatin as the drove by the shop. The car seemed to move into the perfect parallel park itself, which was handy, as she didn't remember how to do it herself. She had problems remembering her own name as she crossed the street and opened the front door, setting off a little bell mounted on top that would set everything in motion. What was wrong with her? She chalked her extreme butterflies and lack of important memory functions on the long day and intense heat.

She moved slightly to the left, far enough from the door to allow other people to enter, but close enough to become an obstacle to get past once they'd stepped inside. Standing in direct view of the small hallway from which he emerged seemed like a good spot to be in.

He saw her instantly, and somehow crossed the room in two strides, when it most certainly should have been categorized as at least a four-stride space. He sported a furrowed brow which revealed that the day had been nearly as trying for him as it had for Yale's newest alumnae.

"Rory?" he asked, tossing the book in his hand on the nearest table. "What are you doing here?"

Sure enough, her voice had failed her. After all that work her heart had done, after the great faith her brain had had in her to just leave her be and to disregard her second thoughts, she couldn't even speak. Cursing her voicebox, her heart quickly ran through a checklist of other useful organs and found an effective one halfway down (read: the arms).

She pulled him into an embrace, and with that motivation, her voice found enough in itself to whisper quietly into his ear, "I missed you."


End file.
